


All Suckers, They Will Cease to Exist

by mcshrug



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, do you ever get the feeling that a show is slowly destroying you, from the inside out, s2 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcshrug/pseuds/mcshrug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey likes Gallagher’s fucking weed pancakes. Goddammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Suckers, They Will Cease to Exist

**Author's Note:**

> i discovered shameless a week ago and i'm currently at the s2 finale so i decided to try my hand at shameless fic bc rn everything is pain
> 
> but i like to imagine inside mickey's thug head is the brain of a poet.
> 
>  
> 
> title from awolnation's knights of shame

            Mickey wakes up with a pancake on his face.

            “What the fuck,” he says. It’s muffled, because there’s a pancake on his face. The whole situation’s just kind of undignified. He slaps it off his face with one hand and jabs right in a sharp uppercut with the other, catching Ian right in the balls.

            He’ll give Gallagher this; for a kid with a pretty nice sized package, he’s able to take a substantial hit to it and not let the pain bother him. After a mild second or two of pained grunting, Gallagher says evenly, “It’s breakfast time, Mickey.”

            Mickey stretches, fisting his hand in the pillow above him. He squints up at Ian, wonders if he should do anything about the morning wood lying thick in his worn sweatpants. “Why the fuck’re you here, man. You break in?”

            Ian tucks half a pancake between his teeth. “I’m dating your sister,” he points out.

            Mickey rolls his eyes. “Oh, suck my dick.”

            Ian looks him up and down like he’s considering it and, yeah, it gets Mickey a little hot under the collar, makes his absently hard erection become a decidedly hard erection. Gallagher has nice lips, plush and pink and soft around his slick tongue, and he has nice fingers and big palms and what the fuck ever, so Gallagher is decent looking. He’s a decent looking Gallagher. Mickey needs to calm the fuck down about it.

            “Maybe later,” Ian decides. Mickey’s not sure about what. He’s lost the thread of the conversation. “First, come eat pancakes. Mandy and I put weed in them.”

            Mickey examines the pancake lying on his pillow. “Maybe you’re not as fuckin’ useless as you look, man.”

            “Thanks,” says Ian. He says it genuinely. He does that, Ian. He does things genuinely, and then he smiles like he has nothing to hide.

            Fucking idiot.

 

            Mickey doesn’t mind working at the Kash and Grab. The hours are decent because he ignores a decent chunk of them, and when he does show up it’s all free donuts and free cigarettes and Ian Gallagher sitting behind the counter looking at Mickey like he wants to _eat_ him.

            “Jesus, Gallagher.” Mickey swipes a lighter; Ian plucks it from his hand and puts it back, so he grabs another one. “Wouldja stop lookin’ at me like that?”

            “Like what?” Ian thinks he’s so fucking cute.

            “Like you’re fucking _gay_.”

            Ian smiles. He’s changed a lot since Mickey got back from his stint in juvie, lost the bangs and the little-boy sweetness and packed on some muscle to fill out the sleeves of his t-shirts, but his smile’s still the same. It makes him look a lot younger, makes him look like _jailbait._ “I _am_ gay, Mickey.”

            Fucking Gallagher. “You’re an _idiot_ , is what you are.”

            Ian shrugs and snatches the lighter back, this time stowing the whole box under the counter. “And you’re a dickface, but we all have our issues,” he says. “Wanna fuck?”

            Mickey rolls his eyes. “What makes you think I wanna fuck, Gallagher?”

            “You’re hard.”

            Maybe he needs to start wearing his jeans a little baggier. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

            “Oh, sure,” says Ian. “Happens to me, to. Coincidental stiffies. I mean, it happens when I’m around guys, but it just happens, right? Doesn’t _mean_ anything. Sometimes it even happens when I’m balls deep in their asses, but I mean. It’s just a coincidence.”

            “Smartass,” Mickey says, and Ian smiles again and grabs a donut before flipping the sign and wandering away to the back room.

            He does a pretty damn good job of filling out the back of those jeans, Mickey thinks. He sure knows how to pick ‘em.

           

            Mandy and Ian do a pretty awful job of being boyfriend and girlfriend. In Mickey’s experience, going steady means public proprietary gropes, beating up people the other sleeps with, and doing chivalrous things like paying for smokes. Ian never even pretends to touch Mandy’s tits. He high fived her once when she told him she’d bagged a senior from the high school a county over. He’s pretty anal about smoking now that he’s obsessed with ROTC and usually makes a fuss if she tries to break out a new pack. All they ever seem to really do is argue over English worksheets and play video games while screaming at each other.

            They’re a terrible couple, all things considered. Mickey can’t bring himself to mind too much.

            “You should be a better boyfriend to Mandy,” Mickey grunts into his elbow.

            Ian lets out a little groan and shoves forward, knocking Mickey up the bed. Mickey’s worn red blanket is soft around his elbows and delicious against his heated skin, and Mickey thinks that if he did things like be happy then he would be happy here and now. “You really- fuckin’- think so?”

            Mickey opens his mouth to respond just as Ian jerks out and shoves in again, and all that comes out is a little punched-out sounding grunt. “Uhn.”

            “You’re really tellin’ me to be a better _boyfriend-“_ Ian’s arm wraps around his waist, elbow hooked around his navel, muscles rippling as he drags Mickey back against him, and it’s moments like this where Mickey thinks _goddamn I really really love cock,_ “while I have my dick in your _ass?”_

“’M just _sayin’,”_ hisses Mickey. He slips forward, slams his face into the pillow. Ian’s worked up a rhythm now. Ian’s so fucking good at working up a fucking rhythm, and when did they even become the kind of people that had a civilized goddamn _conversation_ while fucking? “’M just sayin’, you could _make an effort-“_

“I’ll show you an _effort-“_

“Fuck,” says Mickey, doesn’t do something like bite the pillow because he’s not a fucking _girl,_ alright, “Fuck, Ian-“

            “You said my _name,”_ says Ian in disbelief, and then comes.

            Mickey punches him when they’re done, calls him a pussy. Ian punches him back, says “’s about time I get to come first for once,” and Mickey says “not because of your own fucking _name”_ and knees him in the balls, and then they beat each other up for a bit and then have messy sex. As they do.

 

            Sometimes Mickey thinks pretty gay things, he thinks, I wonder if Gallagher is fucking other people, he thinks, I wonder if Gallagher would come over even if we didn’t fuck, he thinks, I wonder what it would be like to move in somewhere with Gallagher, in some gay apartment somewhere where we can do something gay like raise a fucking dog or get a fish tank or some shit, he thinks, I like Gallagher’s fucking weed pancakes, goddammit.

            He doesn’t let it bother him much. When you’re born in a house like the one Mickey lives in, you learn to let dreams roll off your shoulders along with the nightmares.

 

            They get high in the dugout one night, stab out blunts in the earth that they’ve lived and breathed and grown up and jizzed on and lean back against the bench. Mickey looks up at the ceiling and thinks that if it wasn’t there then he’d just have become a goddamn hypocrite, now wouldn’t he?

            “Mickey?” says Ian.

            “Yeah?”

            “Call me Ian more.”

            “Fuck off.”

            The night is quiet around them. Mickey’s brothers have a guy they want to take out tomorrow and Mickey’s been enlisted as backup, and he’s dreading it, somewhere, deep in the pit of his stomach. This is how you become a pussy. It starts in the middle and it eats its way out, rotting you along the way.

            There’s another word for the rot and decay, but Mickey doesn’t like it, so he doesn’t think it.

            “Mickey?” says Ian.

            “I’m not calling you something cute, Firecrotch.”

            Firecrotch smiles. “Wanna fuck?”

            Mickey kinda does.

           

**Author's Note:**

> thank you if you read :o
> 
> i'm at savestiles on tumblr come chat if you wanna!!


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